


Save the Lap Dance for Me

by rudbeckia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crack, M/M, so many euphemisms for penis, stripper Cecil, stripper Earl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos gets laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save the Lap Dance for Me

Carlos frowned at Rochelle and Dave.  
"I don't see what possible scientific reason made you think I would want to be here."  
Rochelle just grinned at him . Dave attempted an explanation.  
"Look, Carlos, you need a night off. You're frazzled and that affects the team and--"  
"Fine!" Carlos nearly barked the word out. "But why here? Why aren't I at home watching documentaries?"  
Dave shrugged. "Because 'Chelle and I thought you might like this place for some reason. Want a drink? I'll get a round in."  
Carlos's frown lessened. There was no harm in having one drink with his colleagues after work.

The scientist surveyed the gloomy club. There was a long bar at the back where Dave waved cash at a busy barkeep wearing a white bow-tie and cat-ears headband. Small, circular tables surrounded a central stage that had an ornate gold-painted cage around it. A narrow runway projected from a door in the cage and the tables around it were all occupied. Except one. As Dave returned with a bottle of prosecco and a scowl at its expense, a small giggly group vacated one of the runway tables. Rochelle was there to claim it almost before the chairs stopped scraping on the parquet floor.

Carlos settled in his new seat, shaking his head.  
"We were fine over there. Near the bar. This is going to get FUCK!"  
Feedback from the sound system made Carlos clap hands over his ears. Dave smirked at Rochelle and sat back. Rochelle punched Carlos's upper arm, leaned over, pulled a hand away and yelled in his ear.  
_You ready for some get-downtime, boss?_  
Carlos was not, but his eyes and ears were too busy to allow his mouth to respond in any way more sophisticated than hanging open.

Music started.  
A spotlight picked out a man on stage.  
A man in the cage.  
A man about to bring the uniform of the Boy Scouts Association into disrepute.

The man looked up and smirked. He scanned the room, making brief eye contact with almost everyone and lingering eye contact with anyone who carried visible cash. Dave took Carlos's limp hand, closed Carlos's fist around a sheaf of small-denomination folding money and pushed his boss's elbow up so Carlos was waving cash at the beautiful man in the deliciously tight uniform without realising. The dancer licked his lips at Carlos and reached through the golden cage. Dave plucked a note from Carlos's unresponsive paw and held it out. The dancer snatched it from Dave's hand, sneered and stuffed it into the back pocket of his figure-hugging shorts. 

Dave swore as the dancer turned away with a well-timed shimmy and focused his attention on a client with more cash and more... heads. Dave cursed, if he was going to help get his boss some welcome stress relief he'd struggle to compete with a dragon for charisma and looks.

"Hey, scout!"  
Dave scowled, staring around him to find the source of the rude yell. His eyes settled on Carlos, who stood to attention, in more ways than one.  
"Scout! you want more? I got as much as you need."  
Somehow, Dave knew his boss was probably talking about money.

The well-muscled dancer made a big, choreographed, deal of unlocking his golden cage and emerging onto the catwalk, strutting his stuff up and down, pouting and posing and posturing for the benefit of everyone currently envious of the little dark-headed scientist and his bulging pants. 

The dancer stopped and performed a slow three-sixty just for Carlos, shedding his sash and draping it over Carlos's shoulder, rubbing his crotch through the fabric of his uniform to give a hint at the magnificent specimen contained, barely, by the thin cotton twill. Carlos stared at the dancer, wondering if this night might turn out to be an experiment that _definitely_ wasn't certifiable science.  
Carlos held out his entire fistful of small bills. Dave twitched but Rochelle grabbed his arm and prevented him from retrieving the relatively modest amount of cash Carlos waved at the large man in uniform. The dancer took the notes from Carlos's mitt and counted. He smiled at Carlos, waved at something off to his left and leaned over right in front of their table, ass up and oil-sheened legs wide.

"Okay. Okay, I have not seen you come," he pointed only at Carlos, "here before. For another few bucks you can have a private lap dance with me..."  
Carlos removed cash from his wallet without bothering to look at it.  
"...and my friend."  
Heads turned as a second dancer sashayed down the runway and joined the man in the scout costume.  
"Can you control yourself until the end of our routine?"  
Carlos really tried to nod. The dancers exchanged a look that clearly meant something. 

The double act was super hot. The muscular man in uniform appeared to chastise the other for being improperly dressed and cured the problem by making him hardly dressed at all. The second man, now mostly nude and protecting his modesty with a scout neckerchief cheekily stolen from his _master_ , paraded around displaying his rigid rod to those wiling to part with cold, hard cash for a glimpse of a hot, hard member.

Carlos was transfixed. The scout posed and turned, removed his uniform oh so slowly as he gyrated up and down the runway, accepting cash for theatrical winks, fast flashes of his horizontal hot-dog and slow squeezes of his bountiful buns. The other, nearly-nude dancer, protected his modesty effectively with a striped cloth triangle and a plaited leather ring. 

The scientist felt himself warm and swell as the music track drew to a warm, swelling climax. He grit his teeth and held on to his reserve, his dignity and his own long-overdue conclusion. Carlos took a deep breath. It had been a long time since the hand on his massive hot hard-on had not been his own.

At last the dance was over and the two men paraded offstage. Carlos smiled weakly at Rochelle then at Dave, started to apologise for wasting so many portraits of dead presidents, but choked on his words as two gorgeous men approached their table and sat down like they owned it.

The man in uniform did the introductions.  
"Hi stranger, my name is Scoutmaster Earl. My friend here in the short-shorts is Cecil," Scoutmaster Harlan breathed the next sentence into Carlos's ear. "I bet his voice can drive you wild."  
Carlos stared at the one calling himself Earl.  
"You said private dance?"  
The one called Cecil took Carlos's hand and pulled him up out of his seat. Carlos was reluctant to rise because of his massive boner, yet eager at the same time for the same reason. He hoped his loose fitting lab coat was enough to protect his reputation as he stumbled, wide eyed with lust, after the man with the thin crop top, gold booty shorts, knee highs and awesome ass.

Cecil led Carlos to a private booth with a sturdy wipe-clean chair and curtains that almost met in the middle. Scoutmaster Earl strutted in first, dragged the chair to the centre of the small space and Cecil pushed Carlos into it.  
Earl watched Cecil negotiate.

"Okay," Cecil said, "You can have the standard dance you already paid for or there are certain, uh-hu-hum, _extras_ we can accommodate. If you know how to ask real nice."  
Cecil waggled his eyebrows. Carlos swallowed. "Extras?"  
Earl laughed. "Ceece, we got us a newby. Wanna give him a taste of things to come?"  
Cecil glanced at Earl but smiled at Carlos. He straddled Carlos's lap, smile broadening to a lascivious grin.  
"You ever been to a club like this one before?"  
Carlos shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from Cecil's bulging crotch. Cecil lifted Carlos's chin with one finger.  
"Mmhmmhmm, has anyone ever told you you have _really_ great hair?"  
Carlos squeaked out his thanks for the compliment. Cecil ran his fingers through Carlos's tresses and rocked forward, grinding into Carlos's groin. Carlos squeaked again and Cecil let go Carlos's head, expert hands unfastening his button and zipper. Carlos took a sharp breath in and held it as Cecil wriggled a slim hand into his underwear and eased his straining sceptre from the denim and cotton of his jeans and shorts. Cecil spoke in a low, quiet voice.  
"Mmm now, what do you imagine you might like to do with that?"  
Carlos replied, breathy but a little too loud. "Fuck."  
Earl laughed. "Aw honey, Ceece, you do know we are not allowed to actually fuck the clients." He turned to the horny scientist. "What do you call yourself, sugar?"  
"CarlOH-OHs!" He breathed out the syllables as Cecil took a firm but gentle hold of his pork sword and pumped it a couple of times. 

Cecil stood up, the eye of his pocket rocket peeking out the top of his low-rise booty shorts waistband. Carlos, distracted by the peep show at eye level, grasped his erection and groaned.  
"Uh-uh-u-u-uh!" Cecil chided. "No touching yourself until the dance is done!"  
Earl grinned and stroked Cecil's exposed midriff. "Carloh-oh-os, we have not even started yet. You need to restrain yourself."  
"Or," Cecil arched backward, thrusting his cock closer to Carlos's face, "we can restrain you. Scoutmaster Earl here is oh so _very_ good with ropes."  
Earl produced soft fabric cords from one of his pockets. Cecil took Carlos's hands and knelt in front of his chair, manoeuvring Carlos's knees apart and leaning way into his lap to push Carlos's hands behind the chair back. Earl tied Carlos's wrists together then secured Carlos's ankles to the chair legs. 

The dance began. Carlos stared in helpless, frustrated torment as Earl and Cecil walked a circle around each other, cat-like, as if sizing each other up. Earl moved in first, spinning Cecil to face Carlos and clasping him firmly from behind, thrusting his hardening wood against Cecil's neat ass, forcing Cecil to push forward and arch back all at once. Cecil, bent backward and supported by Earl, could not stay within the confines of his tiny tight shorts. The head of his cock thrust fully clear of the gold spandex and Carlos leaned forward, hot, hungry mouth open, desperate for delicious dancer dick.

Earl allowed Carlos to get tantalisingly close to his target then stepped back, supporting Cecil as he angled away from Carlos's reaching tongue. Cecil grinned at the desire-maddened scientist and stretched both arms behind him to clasp Earl's khaki-clad ass and grind back onto him. Earl rolled his eyes in pleasure and put his hands on Cecil's bare midriff, one hand pushed up Cecil's gauzy crop top to play fingerpads over erect nipples. Simultaneously the other hand moved down to ease the sparkly spandex off Cecil's magnificent man-meat. Cecil, his shorts half-mast, rubbed his ass harder and faster into Earl's sex-serpent, making his own pleasure piston swing from side to side in perfect time. Carlos's eyes followed the movement like some kind of reverse snake-charming trick. 

Earl turned Cecil around to show Carlos his gloriously pert ass. Cecil took one step back, then one more, so he stood straddling his client backwards. Earl moved back too and Cecil unfastened Earl's non-regulation scout shorts, letting them fall to the floor. Earl's ten-inch truncheon bobbed in and out of Carlos's restricted view. Carlos moved his head, straining from one side to the other in an attempt to get his eyes, if nothing else, on that spectacular saucisson-sex. Cecil moved, a fast, fluid pirouette, raised leg whirling above Carlos's head, giving the scientist a few seconds of what he wanted.

Cecil slipped behind Earl and smirked at Carlos.  
"Mmhmmhmm, you want to play my friend's massive organ?"  
Carlos stared, eyes wide and mouth open, as Earl exhibited his executive staff. Cecil's right hand stroked around the side of Earl's hip, circled around the base of that long, thick tentpole and stroked it slowly up and down. Cecil's left hand guided Earl to stand side-on to Carlos. Carlos whimpered as he watched Cecil kneel behind the scoutmaster, who still wore his scarf and sash, and slither a long, pink muscle between his cheeks. Carlos, cock throbbing and balls tingling, imagined his own tongue seeking out that tight muscular ring, imagined the entrance to his own dark treacle mine being given hot, slippery attention. His power tower twitched and he wriggled in his seat, pulling against the restraints, thrusting up, desperately desiring any friction, feeling that even the slightest breeze over his balls would make him cum like never before.

Cecil stopped licking at Earl's ass and pulling his perpendicular pump handle. Earl let Cecil position him, one leg either side of Carlos's chair, hands on the chair back either side of Carlos's head. Carlos was literally eye to eye with Earl's herculean honeystick until Cecil, having lubed his cock and Earl's ass, took hold of it once more. He pushed the thick, long shaft to the side so that it brushed against Carlos's cheek when Cecil entered Earl with a moan and a happy sigh. Cecil held still for a moment in which Carlos rolled his eyes up to see Earl looking down at him. Earl grinned.  
"Do whatever you want to do, Carloh-oh-os."  
Carlos moved his head to rub his cheek against Earl's humungadong then opened his mouth, sucking along the shaft to the head as Earl pulled back enough to get Carlos's lips around his purple-headed plunger. 

Earl held tight to the chair back. Cecil pounded into him, and in turn he fucked into Carlos's mouth, Carlos's tongue working at his slit and flicking under his foreskin, making his mind light up with white hot fireworks and his groin fizz with an irresistible, dizzying heat. Earl felt Cecil's grip on him tighten and his tempo speed up then slow down to single, hard thrusts as his dance partner came inside him. Earl pulled out of Carlos's eager mouth and spurted cum into the air, a fountain of pearl droplets that rained down into Carlos's lap.

Earl caught his breath for a minute then knelt in front of Carlos. He reached strong arms around Carlos's hips and pulled the scientist forward in his seat. Carlos slouched, shoulders hard against the chair back, ass hanging off the edge of the seat, knees wide, stiff cock pointing up and balls tightening at the slightest sensation.  
"You want us to help you out?"  
Carlos made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a cry. Earl got on all fours and nudged at Carlos's balls with his mouth, teasing over the wrinkled skin with lips, tongue and teeth. Cecil crouched at Carlos's side, bent over, hummed and sucked on the head of Carlos's granite gamete gun. Carlos came hard in Cecil's mouth in response to a particularly sonorous low D.

Cleaned up with wipes, sucking on a mint and back at the table where Rochelle and Dave had long finished the heavily marked up bottle of prosecco and lacked the means or the will to imbibe more, Carlos sat and fanned himself. Dave smirked.  
"Had a good time, boss?"  
Carlos nodded but frowned.  
"Uh-huh, the _best._ It really was not what I expected. Not at all. Dave," Carlos looked sideways at his colleague. "In your experience, does _a private lap-dance_ generally mean you get dancers lapping your privates?"


End file.
